


The Rise and Fall of a Daily Victory

by tiggeryumyum



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5272196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiggeryumyum/pseuds/tiggeryumyum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FIVE TIMES Jean and Marco unintentionally made other people jealous, and one time they sort of knew, but didn't care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rise and Fall of a Daily Victory

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a fun, de-stresser fic I wrote between bigger projects. It takes place in my Happy Universe IE whatever canon i feel like acknowledging at the time the fic is written.
> 
> FORGOT TO SAY - the first snippet here was inspired by [#12 in this photoset](http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=manga&illust_id=47620787), by [つるみ](http://www.pixiv.net/member.php?id=8144971), a true artist and scholar.

ARMIN 

Armin wakes slowly, something warm and prickly against his cheek. The air is open and fresh, and there's sprawling, endless blackness above. He's outside. Yes, he can smell smoke from the campfire, hear the occasional shuffle from the sleeping bodies around him. 

And feel a body pressing up against him. 

It's Jean, apparently seeking Armin's warmth in his sleep. Amusement is slow to process in his groggy mind, but when it gets there Armin laughs, softly. 

"Well hello."

Jean's eyes open, just a crack. On his face is a hilarious look of annoyed confusion, like he can't figure out what Armin is doing there, what trick Armin is trying to pull. 

"Jean?" 

Marco, on Jean's other side, is awake and leaning up onto his elbow. Ah, that makes sense, then. Jean seems to agree, giving a little huff, still asleep, removing himself from Armin's side, rolling over to press up against Marco instead. 

Armin settles back down against his pillow, still amused.

… _Does_ it actually make sense, though?

Armin watches them shift together, settling back to sleep. He knows he needs as much rest as possible for the exercise tomorrow but he's awake now, and thinking about all this implies. Obviously, this means Jean and Marco cuddle... regularly. In the context of 'Jean And Marco' this makes sense but Armin finds himself shoved back to the context as a whole, the one of typical teenage friendships. 

It might not be so strange, except there's no reason for it. 

Bert and Reiner are unusually close, but like Armin, Eren and Mikasa, they came from the same village, grew up together, faced a titan attack together. They were almost destined to be close, they'd have to actively fight it to prevent it, to stay alone, like Annie. Connie and Sasha were strangers but they have a similar sort of softness, an easygoing energy that blends and meshes and makes sense.

And no one in those groups is currently cuddling. 

Marco and Jean, though. Armin can't find the map for that, what strange path they followed to wind up so close. 

And it _is_ strange, because they absolutely seem to _delight_ in each other, and Armin finds himself, bizarrely, reminded of friendships between very young children. Thoughtless, unquestioned, easy. But neither Marco or Jean are especially immature or sentimental, in fact they both take themselves pretty seriously. 

Armin thinks it has to do with the combination of honesty and acceptance. They are so different, in goals and viewpoints and opinions and mannerisms, in backgrounds and strengths and weaknesses. They're not even opposites. They're just _different_ , and the only way for them to get along would to be to simply … accept those differences. 

A soft noise. A pleased sort of sigh in sleep – it could be either of them. Armin blushes and ducks down deeper into his sleeping bag, and feels like he's spying, though it's really them. Shamelessly flaunting their closeness. As always.

~

EREN 

Eren's not sure if they planned it, but he's pretty sure they didn't. He's pretty sure one day Jean just had the random idea to point two fingers the shape of a flare gun, and aim it up at Marco. 

"Marco," Jean says, voice quiet, but serious enough to catch the attention of most of the boys.

Sitting in his bunk, Marco glances up.

"Bang."

Without missing a beat, Marco flops onto his back, out of sight. It's a pretty spectacular fall, and there's a pause where the rest of them process what just happened. No one says anything about it directly, it's not a big deal, Marco sits back up when Jean joins him in the bunk, and they're both in good spirits, the conversations around the room start back up again. Eren hadn't even stopped talking to Armin, actually, just watching the scene out the corner of his eye.

But the next day it's Connie, aiming at Sasha, as they run out to begin their daily exercise. "Bang! You're dead, potato girl!" 

"What?" Sasha stops, affronted. "Did you just – "

"You gotta be quicker on the draw!" Connie grins sharply, jogging ahead.

"It's on, Springer!" 

The game spreads, quickly. At first Eren resists it, aware of its origins in the bowels of Jean's mind, but everyone is having fun, and Eren likes fun, and isn't so stubborn or petty keep himself from it for very long. 

He decides to do it somewhere quiet first, on Armin, as though that will cleanse it. Unfortunately, he forgot Armin is Armin. Kind and brilliant, but serious-faced and very literal.

"Bang."

"Bang?" Armin repeats, vaguely. 

"Like. I shot you."

"Oh…" Armin says. Eren frowns. He turns to Mikasa.

"Bang."

She stares.

Eren drops his head to the table. "You guys suck."

Meanwhile, the game grows more elaborate, with rules being added daily: no double pistols, a thirty second count for death, the presence of Shadis puts the game on hold, Reiner requires two shots to go down (only Krista and Ymir have managed), and Jean and Marco's deaths have become more and more hammy. 

There's a break during their 3DMG training, after everyone's gotten into position, up in the massive trees. Eren can see Jean and Marco in the distant branches, and with this long of a wait it was only a matter of time.

It's a close one, but even Eren can tell that Marco drew first. 

"You were a fool to trust me, Kirstein!" 

"Ha! I _never_ trusted you, Bott!" He's got his hands up in surrender, but Marco has no mercy. 

"Bang."

Jean tips backward, plummeting from the branch in a truly dramatic display. Eren rolls his eyes, leaning against his own tree. Whatever. 

"Eren," Mikasa says from above, and sounds uncharacteristically hesitant. Eren glances up. Behind her, Jean swoops in a wide arch, back to his position.

"Yeah?" Eren asks.

It takes him a beat to understand, because Mikasa is just pointing a single finger, doesn't even have her thumb sticking out, but.

It's a start.

"Bang."

Eren grabs his shoulder, stumbling dramatically, then falls over. He catches just a glimpse of Mikasa's shy smile before it's covered by her scarf.

~

BERT

"A fifteen _fucking_ kilogram leek."

"Bullshit."

"I swear, we grow them all the time in my village! Not always fifteen kilograms, but pretty big."

"I'll believe it when I see it, Springer," Reiner says, but he's grinning, wanting to be proven wrong.

"I heard MPs get seven full days of paid leave," Connie says, leaning over the table, eyes bright. "When we all graduate you can come see for yourself!" 

"How's that sound, Bert? A vacation to Ragako?" Reiner's thick arm jostles Bert with more force than he probably intends, excited at the idea. "Bert loves leeks."

"Yeah?" Connie says, turning his smile on Bert now. 

_Don't do this, Reiner,_ Bert wants to say. But he doesn't. He just smiles weakly and nods, and they start making plans for the vacation that will never be. Don't get him wrong, Bert knows the things that go unspoken are lies, too, that just sitting here is a lie by omission. But it's worse when he has to take an active part in it. When he makes plans for _after training_ , and _when we graduate_ , and _when we all join the MP_ , _when we're all happy and fat and old_. Doesn't stop Reiner, though. 

" _Bott, Marco!_ "

An instructor is holding up a mail parcel, and passes it off to Marco at the table across from them when he raises his hand.

"Ha! Is that from your mom?" Jean asks. 

"Yes," Marco says, calm. He doesn't look up, opening the letter attached to the outside. 

Jean laughs like Marco just admitted something embarrassing, and Bert hears it because he's meant to, because Jean is saying this loudly, preforming for the entire room. It's only been two days since that brief exercise in Trost, and the visit from Mrs. Kirstein that Jean found so humiliating. 

"So what'd she send? Hm?" Jean says, his voice is mocking. "Did she knit you a new pair of booties?"

Marco is quiet, reading. Bert knows what Marco is feeling, a sense of betrayal that cuts irrationally deep, anger and frustration that will more than likely go unvoiced… it's just easier to endure it in silence. When Marco finishes, he folds the letter back up. 

"I bet your mom is a sentimental type, right?" Jean says. "Did she tell you to keep safe? Did – "

Jean stops, abruptly, and when Bert glances their way again he can understand why: Marco is glaring at Jean with one of the darkest expressions he's ever seen in his life, let alone on _Marco Bott's_ face. 

"Just because you're okay insulting your mother doesn't mean everyone is," Marco says, quiet and serious. 

Jean blinks. "I – uh… "

Marco stands, picks up his package, and leaves the dining hall. Jean stands there for a beat, staring after Marco, then almost helplessly trails after, like a toy getting tugged along by a string.

"Hey, Marco – Marco, wait – "

The door closes behind Jean, cutting his voice off abruptly. 

Bert blinks, stunned. 

It's Connie's turn to clean the tables, and when he gets up to leave, Bert takes a breath.

"Reiner," Bert says.

Reiner is frowning hard down at his meal; they both know what's coming. "We're not going to Ragako." _Don't –_ He remembers Marco's face, the strength there, and clears his throat, deciding not to let it go unspoken tonight. "Don't promise that we will."

A long pause.

Reiner gets up from the table, and carries his plate to the back. Bert watches him go.

In the barracks that night everything between Jean and Marco has been forgiven and forgotten, apparently. Marco shares some of the almonds his mother sent, and Jean doesn't have any more commentary to add, munching happily himself.

Bert eats an almond, and when Connie suggests visiting Jinae, too, for more, Reiner agrees. 

Bert says nothing. 

~

ERWIN

There are two cadets in the yard, loud and rambunctious, washing down the horses. 

It's impossible to miss when the newest graduating class arrives each year, they bring with them an unapologetic, invigorating energy that echoes loudly through the halls of the headquarters. Or in this case, the lawn beneath Erwin's window. 

Washing horses is usually one of the most dreaded tasks of the headquarters, done in miserable, drudging silence, but from the sounds alone, the task could be mistaken for playful roughhousing. 

Erwin shifts a bit toward his window, and watches long enough to make sure roughhousing isn't all that's happening. Once he recognizes the two cadets, though, he knows there's no need to be concerned. Ranking in the top ten of their class, Bott and Kirstein are both extremely efficient and capable soldiers, and are indeed getting the task done, though they sound like children as they do so, snorting with laughter, literally caked in mud. 

One of their comrades is leading the batch of freshly cleaned horses back to the stable, and the two wait for the new batch.

" _Excuse_ me," Bott says, passing by Kirstein, giving him a deliberate, solid shove. Kirstein yelps and falls, face planting into the mud. 

"Marco!"

"Clumsy, Jean," Bott says, bending down to help his friend back up. "You know what your problem is, you're too impati – " The rest is cut off in a surprised shout, Kirstein sweeping Bott's feet out from under him, and he lands hard in the mud. 

"How many do we have left?" Kirstein asks, a bit breathless as he uses Bott as a brace, climbing up onto his knees, pushing Bott deeper into the mess.

"Twenty?" Bott guesses. Kirstein has made it to his feet, but Bott clings to his arm with both hands, trying to pull him back down. "Thirty? Forty?" 

Kirstein grunts, trying to walk, dragging Bott's weight behind him as he goes. "Right, and you expect me to drag you for the rest of it, just like I dragged you through training. You are hopeless, Bott, I hope you realize thaa _AAT!_ "

Kirstein is on the ground again, and the two wrestle for a bit, laughing.

"Completely hopeless, I know," Bott says, once they come to rest in the mud, panting heavily.

Erwin doesn't realize that he's still watching, almost lost in the scene, until the two kiss. 

He turns back to his desk sharply. He's been commander too long for it _not_ to be his instinctual, first thought: the fraternization policy does not apply to cadets. Outside of a bit of unnecessary time-wasting, there is no need to reprimand or observe Bott and Kirstein's interaction any further. And it is a lazy day. If time is to be wasted – not with roughhousing, he realizes, but with _flirting_ – it's most appropriate on days like today.

There is silence now, and it stretches. 

It actually makes him feel quite young, far younger than he is, to peek again out the window for a second, curious look. 

They continue to kiss, muddy hand prints pressed against their faces and necks. They kiss as though it's the easiest, simplest thing in the world, devoid of complication… And for them, it is. 

For a moment.

" _Oi!_ " The enraged shout has the two of them pulling apart, rolling away, up onto their feet and saluting in almost comical efficiency. "I know new cadets have heads full of rocks," Levi says. "But even you two can't be stupid enough to try to wash something on goddamn dirt. Look at this – shit lake you've created – "

The reprimand has only just begun, and Erwin finds himself smiling, resting his chin in his hand as he watches the fury in Levi's face grow, enhanced by his frustration, unwilling to get any closer, get in their face would involve actually stepping in the mud. 

"Yes, sir!" Bott and Kirsten chorus in time at the right beats, and then hurry off to face whatever punishment Levi has decided for them, together.

~ 

CONNIE

There are no rules in a hunt. It's just skill. It's whatever you have to do, when you have to do it, and if you're lucky, it works. If you're not, it doesn't, and you try something else next time. No harm, no foul. Ends justify the means, and so on. No mercy. 

Connie knows, with every part of him, that this is how Sasha thinks. He's got to stop forgetting when they start a game of Shame Schafkopf, a 104-variation of Schafkopf that requires no money, because they never have it, and capitalizes on their willingness to debase themselves.

"I raise... " Sasha is looking directly at Connie, her grin feral."Dancing in the street of Ehrmich for an hour."

"I fold," Connie mutters.

"What!" Sasha says. 

He just shrugs at her. He's not gonna be dancing in the freaking crowded streets of Ehrmich. They both know he hates dancing, it's specifically why she picked it. 

"No – no, Connie doesn't fold," Sasha insists. "Come _on_ Connie!"

"Is it too late?" Connie asks, and knows it doesn't exactly sound enthusiastic. 

Reiner, Marco, Jean, Armin and Eren shrug in perfect unison. Mikasa, Bert and Annie just stare.

"Alright. I _don't_ fold," Connie says, picking his cards back up.

"Well I _raise_ … asking the captain if he'd like you to wash his underthings," Eren says. 

"You're going to try to lose now, aren't you?" 

"Wanna find out?" Eren grins like he's already won – he's kind of delusional in that sense, regardless of what cards he's holding, and it makes it pretty hard to read his bluffs. 

"I raise... licking Historia's hand."

"I raise offering Commander Erwin a nice, big hug."

"I raise asking Squad Leader Hanji… if they're _sure_ titans don't have genitals."

"You guys are freaking messed up," Connie says, already feeling his ears heat, staring down at his lousy cards. "I fold, Sasha, seriously – "

"Remember when _I_ had to sneak into Shadis's office?" Sasha says. 

"That was two years ago!" 

"Do you fold?" Annie asks.

"I'm in. Fuck," Connie says, slapping his cards down, face up on the table and immediately looking away, unable to stomach it. 

"Alright, everyone – oh. Shit."

Connie risks a second look. 

"Oh _shit_ ," Connie echos, eyes widening when he sees a hand somehow _worse_ than his.

"Sorry, Marco," Eren's laughing, covering his mouth.

Marco looks shell shocked. 

"Why didn't you fold?!" Jean asks, sounding almost outraged, like he's the one who lost. 

"I just – it _really_ looked like Connie was going to lose," Marco says, running a hand through his hair. "No offense, Connie."

"You weren't the only one," Connie laughs.

"Well, you know the rules," Reiner says. "Twenty-four hours, cadet."

Marco takes the ribbing in good humor, and they break for the night. Connie should be happy, and he kind of is, for a bit. Long enough to get to bed.

But then he gets annoyed. A little. A little more. A _moderate amount_ of annoyed by the time he wakes up the next day. 

Honestly it's probably the best thing Marco is the one who lost, cause he's basically the only one who could get away with half of those without getting smacked or court martialed. Connie doesn't know how he phrased it, but Levi actually takes him _up_ on his offer to wash his underwear, and Historia ends up snorting in surprised laughter at the lick. By the middle of the day, Marco's knocked off all his Shame Tasks except one.

"I think it's time to take a trip down to the city!" Reiner says, coming up behind Marco's chair in the dining hall, gripping his shoulders. "What do you think, Bert?"

"I think that would keep us comfortably in the twenty-four hour time limit," Bert says with a rare, teasing grin. 

"Lets get this over with," Marco says, grimly. It's a change of pace from his determined calm. When they get to the city, it becomes obvious why. 

Marco has literally no idea how to dance. 

There's a cafe with a veranda across the street from Marco's chosen spot, where the whole lot of them sit, drink, eat and watch the show. People stare as they pass, sometimes pausing, asking if Marco's alright, as Marco, in full uniform, attempts the single dance they learned in training camp for formal gatherings in the interior, but his steps are clumsy – it's been years. 

"This is painful," Armin says, quietly, shielding his gaze from the awful sight.

"Maybe… we should call it off early," Connie says. 

"No way," Eren says, ready to fight at the very suggestion. Connie understands. They've all subjugated themselves to way too much humiliation and risk in the past to ever give anyone a pass now. 

"Marco's tough," Sasha says. "He can do this."

It truly is hard to watch, Connie finds himself staring down at his own hands, up at the sky - just about anywhere other than Marco's awkward sashaying. Ymir's laughter and cat calls isn't exactly helping.

With a heavy, miserable sigh, Jean stands. He drops his crumpled napkin in Connie's lap, and hops the tiny gate separating them from the street. Marco pauses, watching Jean approach with bright, hopeful eyes, like he's hoping to hear they've called it off. 

Jean doesn't tell him that, but he stands beside Marco for a beat, then starts his own, awkward, clumsy dance. 

Jean also has no idea how to dance. But for the next hour, the two of them do their best. At first it's not any better than Marco dancing alone, they're doing barely more than standing like a pair of miserable, blushing pillars, but eventually they loosen up. They start swaying, clapping, sashaying, locking arms and spinning jauntily. Eventually people aren't just staring blankly but smiling as they pass, and the two of them start a thing where they'll both pretend to dip imaginary hats when someone stares especially long. 

"… I would've done that for you," Sasha says, apropos of nothing, with a kind of fierce defensiveness.

Connie looks over in surprise. … No, she wouldn't have. But he can tell by her expression that she wishes she would've, it's something she understands better now, and something she'd do in the future. 

"I know," Connie says.

~

EVERYONE

 

"Marco – _ohgod_."

"Yeah – 'm here, yeah, I have – oh fuck – "

"Ah.. _aah..._ feels so – _Mar_ cooo."

"Thin walls," Armin says.

"Thin walls," Bert agrees. To be fair, it's a faint noise, Jean and Marco's lovemaking in the bedroom upstairs. But it's the kind of noise that catches a person's full attention, even at a whisper. They're all hotly aware of it, and there's no point in avoiding the topic.

"They've been going at it for thirty minutes," Connie says. He doesn't even sound annoyed – because it is well past annoying, it's now become full on impressive. "Like a _solid_ thirty minutes." 

"Oh - oh -please, that – _there,_ fucking _there_ , oh, god!"

"They have great stamina," Reiner murmurs, eyes narrowed.

Then no one says anything for a while because the repetitive, echoing _thunk, thunk, thunk_ against the wall becomes _thunkthunkthunkthunkthunk_ , picking up speed and intensity. It lasts a surprising amount of time, and a faint, wobbling moan of pleasure rises, just barely audible.

Then silence.

"Forty-five minutes," Sasha says, stunned.

A beat.

"I mean that's just too long, anyway." 

"Yeah, that's just... unnecessary."

~ 

"Do you think they heard us?" 

"I don't think I care."

This is too quiet for anyone to hear outside of the bed, along with the satisfied, blissed out snickers that follow. They settle on the bed, feeling out how they fit together tonight, sliding thighs and wrapping arms, a playful bite, a reprimanding kiss, fingers twining together, bundling down properly for the night.


End file.
